


Like a Stone

by Plaided_Ani



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Moderate Dom/sub, Oral Sex, PWP, Praise Kink, Smut, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plaided_Ani/pseuds/Plaided_Ani
Summary: When he no longer had control, he sought you out.





	Like a Stone

**Author's Note:**

> I’m new to writing who whole Dom/sub thing, so please forgive me. That said, I would appreciate any and all feedback! Thank you for taking the time to read this! This is also unbeta’d, please forgive any mistakes.
> 
> This is my first submission for @theworldiscolorful‘s 2k Glorious Followers Challenge. 
> 
> This is for the prompt: Please?
> 
> Inspired by Like a Stone by Audioslave.

Dean Winchester drifted in and out of your life over the last nine years. He’d never call, never texted, just showed up when he wanted at all hours of the day and you’d let him in, gave him everything he needed and he was gone with the sun. Never once had you complained, never questioned him, just accepted him as a fleeting part of your life, something you were able to enjoy from time to time.

Then he stopped coming, told you it would be the last time, that it needed to stop. And in the last two years, he kept his word until you found him in your kitchen, sitting at the small table, staring at his hands. He silently watched you as you walked in with your bags, not bothering to help because he’d knew you wouldn’t accept it, especially in the shape that he was in. Dark circles were thick under bloodshot eyes that sat above hollowed cheeks and pouty lips.

There was something wrong, there always was when he came to you. You knew little of his life, just of his brother Sam and a friend he called Castiel, and that he would often travel for work, but you never prodded. If Dean wanted to tell you, he would, but it seemed best for him to keep you separate from whatever he did and that was fine with you.

You moved through your kitchen, putting away your groceries, feeling his eyes watch every move you made, but you paid no mind to him, spared no glance until you put the last box of pasta away. When you finished, he shifted in his seat, his mouth opening for a moment, but shut shortly after when you lifted one neatly trimmed brow.

You leaned against the island in the kitchen, arms crossed and feet slightly apart. You were still in your work clothes, a simple white blouse and fitted gray slacks, your heels still on your feet and hair pulled into a neat ponytail. You stood there, watching Dean squirm in the chair, jaw clenching and fingers twitching.

Seconds ticked by and turned into minutes, he didn’t dare look up from his hands now that he had your attention, but the quiet was getting to him. “Why are you here, Dean,” you finally broke the silence causing him to flinch.

He hesitated, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. His mouth opened and a strangled rasped came out. Pink flushed his cheeks and he cleared his throat to try again. “I need…” he searched for the words, eyes darting back and forth across the table as if it would help him. You waited patiently for him to find the words that he needed to say, the permission he needed to give. “I need you.”

You snorted and shook your head, the sound sent a shiver through his body. “You don’t need me, Dean,” you told him, “you want me. What you need is something else, so say it.”

His head ticked to the left, fingers tightening around one another as he let out a shaky breath. “I need to be in control,” he admitted. “I need to know my place and how I should feel and you…” His hesitant gaze flickered over to you, “you’re the only one who can give me that.”

Whatever was going on in his life must have been bad because he would never give an answer so quickly, not without further coaxing. You let his words simmer between you, his gaze averted back to his hands that were still clenched tight. “The rules,” you asked.

“Speak when permitted, touch only when told, no cumming without permission,” he shot back immediately, his shoulders relaxing almost instantly.

“Safeword?”

“Sangria,” he puffed, cheeks flushing darker.

You pushed off the counter and took your time walking over to where he sat, the click of your heels echoed in your tiny kitchen. Each step had him blinking, his nostrils flaring. “I want you in my room, stripped to your boxers, hands behind your back and seated on the bed,” you ordered, a hand reaching up to lightly graze along his jaw. His head tilted slightly into the touch, but when you pulled away, he sat up quickly. “Go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, pushing away from the table, but you caught him by the jacket collar. Instantly, he froze, staring straight ahead, wondering what he did wrong already.

“I need to hear you, Dean,” you whispered back.

He exhaled slowly and nodded once, his voice stronger, “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s my boy,” you praised and released him. His lips flashed a hint of a smile before he scrambled off to your room to follow your instructions.

You gave him ample time to get ready and then some, taking the time answer your emails and check on your stocks. A full half hour had passed when you finally made your way to your room, stopping at the threshold.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed in just his briefs, hands in position and eyes forward. It had been at least two years since you had seen him last, his muscles had softened, but only slightly, and there were a few more scars. He was a beautiful man, all hard lines and a harder soul, but you broke all of that down.

You let him stew under your wandering gaze, your eyes lingering on the mysterious tattoo on his chest down to the tent in his underwear. All you had him do was sit and he was already straining. “I can never get over how gorgeous you are,” you sighed, strolling to the far side of the room to grab the chair at your vanity.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Dean replied.

You pulled the chair to sit in front of him, crossing your legs, still fully clothed, and you smiled at him. “And always so obedient,” you chuckled. “Whoever trained you did a very good job.” He made no indication of whether he was pleased by the compliment, just dropped his gaze to your feet.

“Do you remember the last time you were here,” you asked, toeing off your shoes and kicking them aside. Dean flinched but nodded. “Rule one, Dean,” you reminded him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded.

“That will be your first and only warning,” you informed and stood from the chair. “You told me you’d never come back, but here you are.” You moved just within his reach, staring down at him as his face was at your chest level. “I’ll admit that I’m a little shocked, but somehow I feel compelled to help you. I don’t know if it’s because some part of me cares about you when I barely even know you or it’s the universe that pulls me towards you.”

He didn’t respond and his expression remained stone straight, ever the obedient little soldier. You lifted a hand and dug it into the short crop of his hair, tilting his head back so that he could look up at you, a silent show of permission. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re a dream,” you whispered, the fingers of your free hand running down the bridge of his nose, your eyes darting from freckle to freckle while he stared straight into your soul. “If you are,” you leaned down, your nose brushing against his, “you’re one that I don’t want to wake up from.”

When your pressed your lips against his, he melted into your touch. You gave him no leave to make any sound, but it was there in his throat, you could feel it in the tense of his jaw. Your tongue licked into his willingly parted lips, coaxing his to dance with yours, which he did so eagerly. “Drowning your sorrows in whiskey,” you murmured against his open mouth when you parted for air, “when we both know there’s something better in this life for you.”

He looked at you with an unblinking stare, chest heaving slightly. It was obvious he wanted to say something, but he fought against it. You ran your thumb across his bottom lip until your nail stopped and dug into the side of his cheek. “You always end up here,” you frowned. “My sweet boy, will I ever deserve you?”

His gaze faltered, jumping from the wall behind you and back again, the sting of tears pricked at his eyes and he sputtered, but remained silent. “Undress me,” you instructed and released your hold. “You may use your hands.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied evenly, “thank you, ma’am.” His thick fingers fumbled with the buttons of your blouse, his hands shaking as he tried to concentrate on his task and not the overwhelming sensation of your watchful eyes. When he unclasped the last button, he reached up and carefully pushed the fabric from your shoulders, careful not to graze any part of your skin.

His attention turned to your slacks, his effort doubling as tight as they were, but he managed to get them down and off your legs for you to kick aside as you did your shoes, leaving you in your white lacy underwear. He licked his lips and reached up for your bra, but you stepped back with a click of your tongue. “Not now, Dean. Hands behind your back.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, his arms moved behind him, eyes falling back to across the room. “Look at you,” you cooed as you climbed onto the bed and kneeled behind him. Your hands raked through his hair and down his neck, dug into his skin at his shoulders and down his arms, scraping over a new scar, oddly shaped. When you touched it, he tensed and flinched away.

You removed your hands from him and watched the raising of his shoulders from his uneven breathing. Whatever reason he had for being there, it had to do with his scar. He was here to forget about it and it was your job to make sure he did. “Color?”

He was silent for a beat before answering with a soft, “Green.”

“Lose the boxers. Lay down,” you tell him, “on your back, hands at your sides.” He nodded and dropped his boxers when he stood before he turned and crawled up the bed at your command. He settled in the middle, head rested on your largest pillow, hands flat against the mattress, body still stiff from your accidental touch.

His body was glorious when it was laid out, waiting. You wanted him all for yourself at that moment, to use him like you wanted, but this wasn’t for you, it was for him. “Spread your legs, Dean.” He instantly complied, parting his bowed legs wide enough for you to settle between. “Rule three?”

“No cumming without permission,” he answered automatically, watching as you crawled up to him, your hands hovering just above his thighs. His hard cock, leaking since the moment you walked in the room, twitched at the thought of what was to come.

“Not a sound from you, do you understand,” you narrowed your gaze and he nodded once. “Good boy.” Your nails dug into the skin above his knee and clawed up to the juncture of his hips causing goosebumps to blossom over his body. “I’ve dreamed about this cock,” you said, leaning down to puff a sigh against the swollen tip, “so long and thick. Fills me up so good, Dean. It gets in so deep that I can feel you days after.”

You snuck a glance up at Dean’s face to see his jaw clenched tightly and his hands twisted into the fabric of your comforter. “And your taste,” you whispered, wrapping a hand around the base to keep the length steady, “like the sweetest ambrosia. If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you cum in my mouth later. Would you like that, Dean?”

His voice was strained, but he answered with an obedient, “Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled against his tip and watched him as you opened your mouth to let the entire thing slip passed your lips, not stopping until he hit the back of your throat. His eyes slammed shut and his shoulders lifted off of the bed, his face twisted in an euphoric, silent sob. With each both of your head, the head reached the back of your throat and beyond as his cock was sucked tightly with your hot mouth and praised with your wet tongue. He his head jerked involuntarily, hips doing their best to keep still.

His thighs tensed around you, the muscles of his stomach rippled with effort to hold himself back. You released him with a pop, removing yourself completely to sit back on your hunches. His chest heaved, eyes still clamped closed, but he was silent and as still as his will allowed.

“You did so good, Dean,” you praised and crawled up to straddle his hips, your hands coming to rest along his ribs. Your lacy core trapped his cock between your bodies, still slick with your spit and hot from his arousal. Slowly you rolled your body, grinding your sex against his, eliciting a moan from you.

“I’m not sure how I want you.” He dared to open his eyes, lust blown pupils zeroing in on you as you once again pushed your soaked white lace against his aching cock. “It’s been years since I’ve rode you,” you recalled, nails digging into his skin and you rocked painfully slow against him. “I know you love watching yourself slowly sink into me over and over again while I tell you how amazing it feels, how you’re such a good boy, so sweet and wonderful when you fuck me so, so good.”

His knuckles were white from his grip on your sheets, but his body continued to still and his voice was absent. He wanted to be a good for you, he wanted to please you, to make you happy. “But I love having you on top,” you continued, “covering me with your weight, pushing your hips against mine, looking up at your beautiful, perfect face lost in bliss. So many options.”

Your hips stalled and you tilted your head in thought. “I could have both,” you considered, sitting up slightly to tug aside your ruined panties, exposing your glistening folds. You sat back down, running your bare core against his hard cock, leaving a trail of your slick behind. “Or I could just have you bend me over, I know how much you like that. Love curling around me from behind, fucking into me like the animals we are.”

Dean’s chest was heaving, short, hot breaths puffed out of him steadily through tightly clenched teeth.

“Do you want to say something, Dean?”

He stared at you, eyes wide and desperate. “Ma’am, please,” he ground out, voice cracking.

A smile slowly graced your face and you leaned down to hover your lips inches from his, “What is it, sweetheart? Tell me.”

He hissed, not breaking away from your amused stare. “I need you so bad, ma’am. **_Please?_** ”

Your hands left his sides and snaked up his body, nails scratching over two perky nubs, one resting on his shoulder, the other locked its hand around his jaw, your thumb hooking into his mouth. “Polite as ever, darling,” you laughed quietly. “Your cock is begging,” your hand on his shoulders slid back down between you two and wrapped around the thick, throbbing shaft, guiding it towards your own aching center, “and you ask so sweetly.”

You sank down on him, slowly, deliberately, feeling every inch fill and stretch you. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back as your body took him. “Fuck,” you whimpered when you finally seated yourself completely, feeling him throb inside of you.

His skin was flushed with restraint and you could see the veins protrude in his neck as he adjusted to your warm, wet heat. “Look at you,” you panted, holding yourself up with your hands on his chest, “so good, so patient.” You lifted yourself up, dragging slowly along his cock until head was barely inside and sank down with a raspy moan.

Dean’s jaw clenched tighter, you could hear the grinding of his teeth as his face scrunched with effort to keep quiet and still. “That’s my sweet boy,” you whispered, your hips once again raising and falling carefully on his length, feeling every bump of veins and twitch of him inside of you, “keep it up.” You set the pace, a slow, grinding fuck as you pushed him inside of you again and again.

Large, calloused hands squeezed and relaxed against the mattress, yearning to touch you, to feel all of you, but he wouldn’t dare, not without permission. As much as he was submitting tonight, punishment was not what he wanted. He sought to give into you, to have you show him his that place in the world was not at the end of a blade or gun, but beneath you and your touch.

“My lovely dream,” you groaned, squeezing tightly around him causing his body to tense, “am I not giving you enough?” Dean opened his mouth to reply, but his voice was caught in his throat, eyes squeezed as tightly as they could. You slowed your paced so he could gather his thoughts, but it only seemed to lose him more. “Touch me, darling,” you whispered.

He immediately complied, warm, thick fingers splayed across your flushed skin, seeking and searching every inch of you with your permission. His hand cupped you over your bra and a frown pulled at his lips. “Take it off,” you told him, stilling for the moment so he could focus on his task of popping open your bra and tugging it off in one smooth motion. Then his hands were back on you again, squeezing greedily at your breasts when you continued to ride him.

His hands slid from your chest to your back, rubbing up and down your spine as you began to pick up speed. Ever so casually his hips began to meet yours. Normally, this would result in punishment, but you were getting so lost in the feeling, you allowed it. “That’s it,” you encouraged, leaning down to capture his lips with yours, tongues sliding against one another in time with your hips, “fuck me, Dean. Let me hear you.”

You released a flood gate. His arms wrapped tightly around your middle and his legs bent to get a good hold before pistoning up into you with fervor. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers digging back into his hair to tug on the strands and he hide his face away in your chest, biting and licking at your skin. Each thrust tore a deep, rumbling groan from his throat that vibrated through you and straight to your core.

Dean fucked up into you like his life depended on it, his hands digging into your sides hard enough to leave marks that’d you feel for days. The slapping of your skin echoed through the room, drowned out only when one of you managed to find the air to get out a moan or whimper.

From his erratic thrusts, you knew he was close and so were you. With your tight grip in his hair, you pulled back his head and shoved your tongue down his throat and slid the other hand down between you to desperately rub at your clit. “Cum for me,” you breathed into him, forcing your eyes open. “Fill me up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whined, staring up at you with those gorgeous eyes, so desperate to please you.

You tumbled over the edge then, the coil he had twisted so tight within you sprung free. You crashed into him with breathless praises as your warmth clamped and spasmed around him. He wasn’t far behind, a few deep, hard thrusts and he spilled into you with a choked sob, mouth parted and eyes rolled into his head.

“So good,” you whispered to him as you both started to come down from your highs, still wrapped around each other, connected in the most intimate way possible. “You did so good, Dean. I’m so proud of you,” you praised and ran both of your hands through his hair, down his face, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he returned breathlessly, laying down and bringing you with him. He carefully slipped out of you and you shifted to curl up against his left side, one of his arms still around you, the other was used to wipe the sweat from his brow.

When you caught your breath and remembered how to move, you sat up and kissed him properly, a slow burning kiss that curled your toes. “You alright,” you asked, slipping out of your role. Your eyes shifted to the mark on his arm.

“Better now,” he answered with a nod, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see your curious gaze. “Sorry about last time, you know? My job… it gets stressful. I thought I could do deal with it on my own.”

“You don’t need to explain, Dean,” you smiled, kissing along his stubbled chin. “I’ll always be here for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: @plaided-ani


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